The Last Home

The Last Home The Inn That Shouldn’t Exist (But Does Anyway)

There is a place, tucked away in the folds of reality, where the lost and the legendary drink side by side. It has no fixed home, no fixed rules—except the ones that matter—and it rarely answers questions in a straightforward manner.

Some places can be found on maps. Others require ancient roadways, secret spells, or ill-advised bargains with the wrong kind of fae.

And then, there’s The Last Home.

Some arrive by mistake, stepping through the wrong doorway, taking a turn that wasn’t there a moment ago, or tripping over a reality fold on their way to buy a loaf of bread. Others seek it out deliberately, chasing half-heard rumours, impossible maps, and warnings that sound too much like invitations.

Yet none leave until the Inn decides it is time.

It is a haven for some, a waystation for others, and a riddle best left unsolved. It is an inn, an institution, and possibly a joke the gods have been telling since the dawn of time.

The Last Home does not follow the rules of reality, but it does have rules of its own—and it is best you follow them.

A Place That Refuses to Be Normal

To describe The Last Home is to invite contradiction.

On the outside, it appears ordinary—a welcoming structure of timber and stone, its windows spilling lantern-light onto the road like an old friend beckoning you inside. A sign, hand-carved with great skill and no small amount of impatience, hangs by the entrance.

"Welcome Home. We have rules. You have been warned."

It is a simple promise. One that should not be taken lightly.

Despite its quaint exterior, The Last Home refuses to behave like a normal building. Its interior shifts, corridors stretching long when no one is looking, staircases spiralling up to places that did not exist yesterday. Some doors vanish and reappear. Others open to places they shouldn’t.

The Library does not appear on any map. The Guest Wings have no consistent floorplan. A particular door near the kitchens has been locked for as long as anyone can remember, and everyone agrees it's best left that way.

And yet, for all its impossible nature, the Inn feels… settled. The kind of place that has always been here, even when it hasn’t. There are parts of the Inn that never change, no matter how the walls move or the doors rearrange themselves.

The Inn is not alive. Not exactly. But it remembers. It adapts. It rearranges itself for new arrivals and locks doors when people need to stay. It opens when it wants, and never by mistake.

Some say it is older than the gods. Others believe it is a failsafe—a refuge built outside the Pattern, to hold what the Pattern cannot. It moves where it pleases, welcomes who it chooses, and remembers far more than it says.

A Brief Tour of the Inn

The Taproom The heart of the Inn, where stories are traded, bets are made, and unlikely friendships are forged. The fire never dies down, and there is always a drink waiting—though whether it's the drink you ordered is another matter.

The Kitchen & The Cellar The domain of Mama Jori, where meals are crafted with both love and intimidation. The Cellar, always stocked and sorted, is best left unquestioned—especially when Mama Jori doesn’t ask how it works.

The Staff Quarters Where those who keep the Inn running find what little rest they can. A place of quiet retreat, unless the Legendary Maids are feeling particularly energetic.

The Library A labyrinth of bookshelves that do not obey space or logic, overseen by Seraphis Nightvale, the Librarian. The books whisper, and some doors should not be opened.

The Guest Wings A shifting maze of hallways and doors, always leading exactly where they should—unless you don’t have the right key.

Some say The Last Home is alive. Others say it is running from something. No one knows for sure.

The People Who Keep the Inn Running (Mostly)

Lars, The Keeper The Inn listens to him. No one knows why. He does not flinch, does not panic, and has yet to look surprised by anything. If he gets involved in a fight, the fight is already over.

Tess, The Bard The heart of the Inn, with a voice that makes gods weep and thieves reconsider their life choices. When she sings, the world quiets.

The Legendary Maids The Last Home’s first and last line of defence, a chaotic band of former warriors, thieves, and assassins who now serve drinks and throw out drunks with equally terrifying skill.

Mama Jori & Whiskers The kitchen is her domain, and if you leave her table hungry, that is entirely your fault. Her absurdly fat drake, Whiskers, may or may not be responsible for several disappearances.

Seraphis Nightvale The Librarian of The Last Home—elegant, ancient, and terrifying in the way only someone who never raises their voice can be.

Lucian Graves A silent shadow at Seraphis’ side—unshakable, precise, and never seen fighting twice.

Dave He isn’t staff. He isn’t a guest. He’s just Dave. Always in the same chair. Always with a pint. Sometimes missing, never explained. The Inn does not acknowledge him. The staff do not question him. He is not part of the Inn. He is not apart from it. He is Dave. And that’s probably enough.

The Rules of The Last Home

No killing, no maiming, no permanent damage. If you try to kill someone, Lars will be disappointed. You do not want that.

No stealing from the Inn or its staff. The gold in your pouch is yours. The gold in the Inn’s vault is NOT.

Do not harass the staff. Flirtation? Allowed. Overstepping? Freya’s fist meets your face.

Respect the Keeper. If Lars sighs, you’ve made a mistake. If Lars stops what he’s doing to look at you, you’ve made a worse mistake.

You may leave when the Inn allows it. The doors open when they open. If you try to force your way out, you won’t like what happens next.

Final Thoughts

Some places are destinations. Some are safe havens. Some are neither, yet refuse to be ignored.

The Last Home is a contradiction wrapped in warmth, a place that should not exist, yet refuses to stop existing. It defies the Pattern, shelters those who don't fit within it, and makes space for the stories that the world no longer wants to hold.

No one commands The Last Home. No one owns it. And no one, no matter how powerful, is ever bigger than the Inn itself.

Welcome home. Stay as long as you like. If The Last Home allows it.